


Wash away the sin (it's where it begins)

by JemDoe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1920s, Gen, Time Travel, mentions to an unnamed greengrass brother and astoria, open ending? i guess, some occasional mention of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:45:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JemDoe/pseuds/JemDoe
Summary: Here’s the thing about time traveling: it was risky. One wrong move, one wrong act, one wrong reaction, and all was lost.





	

Here’s the thing about time traveling: it was risky. One wrong move, one wrong act, one wrong reaction, and all was lost. Daphne Greengrass knew the risks like the back of her hand, and yet, she dived in time, going to her destiny with a suitcase filled with a fake letter of recommendation and time appropriate clothes. Finding a new name hadn’t been an issue, but the hours on the library, searching obituary after obituary while counting down seconds until the D-Day of her mission _was_.

In the end, Daphne found a girl, dead in a house fire, by the name of _Daphne Gatchi_ , dead at age two and whose age, if alive, matched Daphne’s, and supposed she’d have to do. She used the stolen money from a wallet she had pickpocketed to pay the birth certificate fee, and worked on getting the documents she didn’t have, even if not _truly_ hers, rising back from the ashes of time travel.

She worked slowly on getting back in her feet - a Gringotts bank account, a job as a shopkeeper and lies about being homeschooled ready in her tongue - until about two months before Christmas, when she looked at her nice, clean apartment, and decided to get her mission going. She took a deep breath and went to Knockturn Alley, where Merope Gaunt usually begged for coins at this time of the week, heavily pregnant and hungry, selling her family's’ jewelry for irrisory quantities (and Daphne bought them back, because Slytherin’s things were important historical items).

Daphne had _seen_ the girl before, had known who she was based on the memories of Albus Dumbledore, all donated to the Department of Mysteries by Harry Potter, and had worked to gain Merope’s trust as best as possible - offering her lunch, a blanket, some coins, a smile, some conversation. They were friends, somewhat, even if Merope didn’t trust people that much, too afraid of something. Daphne thought her fear was her family’s treatment being repeated at her, but this time by someone Merope trusted.

The rain fell heavy and hard on the stones, and Daphne pulled closer to herself the wool coat she had worn, wishing she had put into it the warming charm her brother had once recommended to her, quick steps bringing her closer to her objective. She shook her head, walking faster; regret would take her nowhere.

“Miss?”, she called, when she adentered the side alley Merope begged in, a softly murmured Lumos reflecting the eyes of rats and guiding her to the place where Merope slept.

Daphne heard no answer from Merope’s end, but that was because Daphne found the girl - thin and pale, all bones and no meat - sleeping or fainted, soaking wet. She sighed, and picked up the girl, taking care with the pregnant stomach, not wishing to hurt Riddle. Daphne knew that killing the baby was a bad idea, based on the relatories other agents had sent before she had been chosen for this mission.

The Department of Mysteries had confirmed the theory of the multiverses, and now studied what little changes could cause, like a ripple effect; while some were sent to study the foundation of Hogwarts and what possibly could have been had Slytherin not left, others were sent to control past Dark Lords. Daphne had watched first, before diving in herself, a Slytherin’s instincts kicking in as she watched as her colleagues tried to get rid of Riddle’s stain in history.

Most universes ended well, if Merope died with Riddle. No war, nothing. Nice, clean and boring universes. Daphne hated those.

Most universes ended with a Dark _Lady_ , if Merope survived to find her baby killed, teaming up with Grindelwald and making the Battle of Nurmengard have another ending. If Daphne had thought Merope looked oddly beautiful in her divine-like anger, well, no one needed to know.

No one had tried to save both, like it was some weird, foreign choice, and when Daphne proposed her plan, her boss granted her permission. Simple. Easy. Curiosity killed the cat and it would either kill her or not.

Daphne carried Merope carefully, walking back to her apartment and drying the girl - nineteen at the time of death, if Daphne’s records could be trusted - with a quick spell, putting her to bed with the thickest blanket she could afford, and starting to make some sort of stew. Something rich in nutrients - the poor girl needed it.

She almost burned herself in the fire when she heard Merope screaming, suddenly awake, and flew to her room, the open door spilling light into the dark for a mere second as Daphne turned the lights, seeing Merope hunched in a corner, blankets kicked to a corner of the bed, and the girl relaxed when she saw Daphne, who smiled.

“Hey. Sorry about this, it’s just… I was worried.”, every word out of her mouth was carefully calculated, trying to be as non-threatening as possible, body language relaxed and quiet. “It was raining hard, and winter promises to be cold. Stay, if at least until the rain is over, and eat. I’m preparing a stew.”

Merope carefully assessed her, a skill learned out of _necessity_ , Daphne knew, giving her space to walk freely. If Daphne treated Merope like a scared cat, it was a precaution - the memories of an alternate universe Merope killing Dumbledore still fresh in her mind - that she took gleefully.

“Alright.”, Merope got off Daphne’s bed, and followed Daphne back to the kitchen, the timetraveler serving Merope, taking care to let the girl watch Daphne’s every movement, her dark eyes following Daphne’s every movement. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,”, Daphne hummed, putting the portion of food in front of Merope, a quick spell making the cutlery arrange itself nicely in front of her. “What is it?”

“Why are you so nice to me?”

This isn’t what Daphne expected, really, but she hummed quietly, serving herself and sitting in front of Merope, who watched her, stew untouched.

“I’ve been in your place, once.”, a half-truth, but Merope would never know which was which. “I would have died if not for some gentle soul’s charity, who took me in during winter. I had just thought it’d be nice to pay it forward. And eat, _please_ , you need it.”

Merope watched as Daphne took the first bite, well aware the girl was watching, and _only_ after Daphne had eaten a bit she started digging in.

Dinner was a silent affair, one that Daphne was used to, and she didn’t press for conversation, waiting for Merope to finish and offering more food, if she’d like - an offer the girl accepted repeatedly, eating her fill.

“Ideally, I’d like if you spent at least winter here.”, Daphne sighed, when Merope refused more food, rising up as if to leave. “If not for me, for the child you carry.”

Merope paused, one hand hovering over her pregnant stomach, and Daphne avoided smiling. Hook, bait....

“Very well. I’ll accept your offer, for the time being.”

 _Sink_.

Daphne smiled, rising up and setting the dishes to clean themselves, a flick making the leftovers fly to her fridge.

“You can stay in my bed, and use my clothes, if you wish.”

Merope analyzed her for a second, nodding, and Daphne gave her a tour of her small, cramped flat.

They fell into routine quickly enough: Daphne went to work in the mornings, leaving for Merope some breakfast and a note for her to _eat_ , returning at five with bread and the newspaper, finding her house impeccably well cleaned (Daphne remembered that Merope was the one who did the cleaning for her family, the first time she tried to puzzle that mystery) and some semblance of dinner being made on the stove.

At first, Daphne smiled.

“You didn’t need to,”, she started, serving herself of the soup Merope had made. “I wouldn’t throw you out, had you not done anything.”

“I _had_ to.”, Merope replied, hands fidgeting in the apron, and Daphne left it like that. If Merope wanted to cook and clean, then she could. It was none of her business.

When the first snow fell, Merope offered her hot chocolate and sat with her in front of the fireplace, Daphne reading a fashion magazine carefully, making mental notes of it while sipping carefully at her (not meddled with) drink.

Merope would have her baby in two weeks, if Daphne hadn’t changed the timeline too much, and she couldn’t help but wonder what could happen. Would Merope leave or stay? Daphne couldn’t know.

“You said…”, Merope started, and Daphne shot her a curious look, waiting for the rest of the phrase. “You said you had been in my place, once, but I cannot fathom how. Your life looks so well put together.”

Daphne put her mug in the coaster, and took a deep breath, closing the magazine. Merope watched with a viper’s eye, every movement being noticed.

“My parents wanted me to marry this old buffoon. I didn’t share their wishes, so I ran away,”, she started, reminding herself of old Lord Bulstrode’s face, Millicent in the background appearing to be as disgusted as Daphne felt. They also wanted her to join the Death Eaters, but Daphne knew better, remembering the things her sister and her brother’s girlfriend had told her.

Her parents told her that she’d be moving in that day, the contract only needing her signature to seal her fate.

Daphne had smiled prettily and told her parents and the Lord that she’d like a moment to pack her personal belongings, and they had granted. Daphne used that few moments to scribble a letter to her siblings, grab some clothes and a broom and get away through the window. She still apparated to the middle of London mid-flight, risking a well deserved splinching, and landed in the trash. Daphne had laughed a bit at that, dirtying her clothes and dark hair, until she barely resembled herself.

“I spent my time wandering, begging for food, stealing wallets.”, Daphne continued, aware that the shelters she had gone once or twice weren’t an option a wizard unaware of muggles would know.

Daphne had known because her sister - blessed be her sweet little sister - had found her begging, and while at first Daphne had been ashamed to be caught like that, Astoria pretended she didn’t know her, passing sandwiches and thermos filled with tea to the other homeless near her, the one that was Daphne’s with a small note filled with addresses, and a scribbled part telling her their brother was dead. Daphne bit back the tears, sure it was her fault, and turned to Meggy, who fed her dog bits of ham.

She asked what did those addresses mean, and Meggy had laughed at her, kooky and reminding her of a Squib version of Bellatrix Lestrange, and then explained these were the local shelters. She had then spat to the ground, saying the women there stole soap and clothes and that Daphne shouldn’t go there.

Daphne went anyway, and her cleanest pair of socks was stolen by another girl. She heeded by Meggy’s advice from there on and stayed far from the houses. According to another girl she met in the streets, her experience wasn’t common, but also not exactly _uncommon_.

“During winter, I rode trains all day to stay warm and tried to beg _just enough_ to get my passage for the following day and some food on my stomach. One day, however, I wasn’t able - the police took me from the subway, some woman claiming I was harassing her. I was simply trying not to freeze.”, Daphne _still_ wanted to hex that woman and her fake fur coat, but had nodded and went on her way, trying to keep her feet dry and warm as she walked through unknown suburbs, aware of every rotten glare sent in her direction.

Daphne had wondered, for a moment as she was escorted away, if the reason her parents had never tracked her was because they hoped their blood traitor daughter would die, but cast that thought away, wandering to keep herself warm.

She had huddled herself near a trash container and hoped no one would bother her.

“Of course, that was when she found me.”, here is where the lie started. Daphne was the one who had found the woman, seeing her trudge slowly through the snow with arms full of bags, and when one fell into the snow, the older woman cursed loudly. Daphne rose up, quick steps reaching the woman and helping her scoop the food, but the woman just shooed her away, like some kind of animal.

Daphne bit back a curse and scurried back, with the apple the woman had let her keep, and was biting into it - the only food she put in her stomach in a day and a half - when the woman approached, black eyes scrutinizing her, dark hair reminding her of Bellatrix Lestrange. Actually, the woman seemed like the lost twin of Voldemort’s maddest follower - to the point it made her wonder if it actually _wasn’t_ Bellatrix, as improbable as it was. Daphne panicked, wondering if the woman wanted her apple back, or if she was on cahoots with the Death Eaters, since she looked so much like a certain one, and biting into the apple once more to hide her face as the woman dropped to look at her.

“She said I should dine with her, for it was cold and the night was dangerous, and invited me to stay until New Year, at least.”, cold and that her family needed to see how _good_ they had, tone as chilly as the wind, seemingly seeking revenge. Daphne accepted it, and was told, while on the short car trip to the woman’s house, that she would work for her food and she was to sleep in the living room, and if anything was missing Daphne’s meager bag would be _thoroughly_ searched before being booted out.

These were rules she could live by, deciding to keep her wand in her holster for once instead of leaving it in her bag’s pocket.

The woman made her put the groceries away, and fed her the leftovers on her fridge, Daphne eating everything as fast as she could, and couldn’t help but wonder if her parents would enjoy seeing her like this. They would, the bastards.

“She was kind and alone.”

The woman wasn’t alone nor kind; Daphne worked for her food and bed - a thin blanket and a spot near the fireplace -, and her family slowly started coming over for the holidays, looking at Daphne’s dirty, matted hair thrice before going to speak in low, hushed tones with the woman, who hissed at them like she could speak Parseltongue, tone vicious and dripping with venom. Daphne did her best to ignore it, cleaning whatever needed cleaning, making beds and keeping her head down, not thinking of Bellatrix Lestrange.

On Christmas Eve, the woman threw some old clothes at Daphne and a towel, and told her to wash herself; Daphne obeyed dutifully, dressing herself in the thin white dress, putting the long white socks, blonde hair up and properly clean for the first time in _months_. She went downstairs and put the table as the family of the woman chatted happily away, the woman eyeing her carefully as the last minute preparations were taken, and telling Daphne, as she passed with the turkey, to seat as far as possible from her.

Daphne obeyed, eating what was offered quietly, the weight of the wand holster in her leg a comforting presence she never thought she’d miss, conversations around her blatantly ignore her presence.

Of course, they ignored her until the woman noticed the way she ate and asked how a homeless girl had such table manners. Daphne stopped, mind racing to form a story - her rich parents had tried to sell her to a rich widowed man, to see if he died soon and they could put their grubby paws on the money, and Daphne went with it until his daughter told that it was more probable the coffin destined to the old man would be to her, so she ran.

It wasn’t the truth, but again, who would believe her? Who’d believe in magic?

The woman looked at her and nodded, commanding attention to herself once again, and letting Daphne eat her fill.

“She told me to stay until New Years, at least, and to take some of her old clothes.”

Again, a lie. Daphne was told she could stay until the day after New Year, and then to _get out_. The woman’s family were the one who approached with old but clean clothes, the nice wool coat she had brought to Merope’s time, and offered her a ride to London, rolled up money being put in her hands, whispered wishes of good luck murmured behind her as she went reunite with her group of homeless friends.

When she met Meggy again and told her tale, Meggy laughed, and told her that the woman did that - she even found _weird_ that the woman hadn’t appeared to pick up one of them, but Daphne’s disappearance made sense now. Daphne thanked Meggy for thinking she had died, and Meggy grinned, Bellatrix-like and making Daphne wonder how many Bellatrixes the muggles could have.

Merope, in present day (or past day, considering that the events she had somewhat narrated wouldn’t happen for another seventy years), nodded.

“And of the woman, what happened?”

After the war was over, and Daphne’s parents were dead as her brother - the tears she shed not for them, definitely-, she went to see the woman. She had knocked lightly on the door, dressed in her best mourning robes, dark and _crepe_ , just a pin in her hair as decoration. The woman answered, gave her a look and a scathing commentary about her parents being the one to die first, instead, and closed the door again.

“She died.”, it wasn’t that far from the truth, anyway. The obituary Daphne had found six months later in the paper was proof enough. “After that, with the money she gave me, I paid for accommodation, got a job in the reception, and with that reference, got a job here. That’s my story.”

Merope nodded, quiet, one hand in her heavy stomach. Daphne had to admit that she looked her best with three meals a day and no misery, but the shadow of depression kept there.

“What about you?”, Daphne knew the truth, of course, but she wondered what version of it she’d get. Would Merope admit to a love potion, to being of the Slytherin line? So many questions.

Merope’s eyes looked to the fire, and she was told more or less what she knew already - the treatment she received in her father and brother’s hand, the beautiful man she saw as salvation, becoming vaguer and vaguer on how, _exactly_ , she got together with Tom Riddle, but Daphne made no mention of it. It wasn’t her place, anyway.

“And then he left me. I had no job, and was booted out of our…”, a brief pause, barely imperceptible. Daphne took a sip of her now cold drink, waiting for the next words out of Merope’s mouth. “Of _my_ house, for not paying rent. It was fair, but I never knew how to move in the muggle world. So I went begging, selling occasionally the small things I was able to carry.”

The pendant of Slytherin, a lock of her hair to the hags that owned the Polyjuice pleasure houses, a small snake ring said to have belonged to Slytherin’s eldest daughter, and those were just the beginning. Daphne was familiar with a few of them, all well hidden in her vault. She had been tempted to buy the hair back, but thought it would look a bit weird - especially because the hags would demand a lock of her hair as compensation. No, thank you.

“And then you found me.”, another pause, longer this time, as Merope eyed Daphne cautiously. “You were kind to me, for some reason I still cannot fathom.”

“Perhaps I see myself in you, perhaps I try to repay my debt to the woman,”, Daphne replied, staring back at Merope. “Perhaps I was kind for the sake of being kind.”

“Perhaps you were.”, Merope’s eyes went back to the fire, and the two of them stayed in silence once more. Daphne looked at the calendar, noticing that Riddle’s birth grew closer, but spoke nothing. It wasn’t her place to speak about it, because Merope would ask her how she’d know, and that wasn’t a conversation she wished to have.

Time moved slowly to Daphne, a slow march until the second D-Day, December 31. Daphne had a few days off in the time between Christmas and the new year, so she kept a careful watch on Merope, reading books she had read on her own time while watching the girl.

When the time came, it was late at night, and Daphne was getting ready to drink some wine, to at least have some semblance of a commemoration, the two of them fed and just waiting for midnight, both for different reasons.

A moan of pain escaped through Merope’s lips as she clutched her stomach, and Daphne shot up to her feet, grabbing Merope before she fell, knees failing the girl.

“I’m going to take a polite guess and say it’s time?”, Daphne said, flicking her wand to bring the bag she had prepared when she first met Merope. Merope simply groaned, and Daphne hummed in agreement as the bag flew into her hands. “Well, let’s go.”

They go, and a few hours later - just shy of january first - Tom is born, healthy and quiet. Daphne can’t feel her hand, at least one broken bone, but she sets it back with a spell silently, watching as Merope names Tom for _his_ father, for _her_ father.

“Are you family, miss?”, asked one nurse, and Daphne had a lie ready on her tongue when Merope smiled softly.

“She’s my sister.”, Merope replied. Daphne had to give that _yes_ , they looked alike, but Merope looked little like Astoria, but a lot like her brother. Daphne stayed in the room; she wasn’t to give up on that - after all, it was an important historical moment.

The nurse left them alone, and Daphne peered at Riddle’s face. He didn’t look like the killer he would become in her time.

“Can I hold him?”, she asked, and Merope looked at her for a second, staring her down, before nodding silently, watching as Daphne adjusted the future past killer in her arms.

Tom Riddle didn’t look like Voldemort, and yet, he _was_ Voldemort. The baby would kill her older brother for “rebelling” when he refused to kill his muggleborn girlfriend, when he refused to kill Astoria for her adventures between the muggles. The baby would kill and maim and torture, but in the future; right now, Voldemort wasn’t even a thought.

“I’d like if you stayed in my house, Merope.”, Daphne didn’t look at her, playing softly with the baby and wondering if she should strangle him and end this, her mission be damned. Then, again, if she did that, Merope would be the one to kill her. One of her coworkers - perhaps Smith or Johnson or someone else that was utterly irrelevant - had done that, once, without being aware Merope watched him. He had been killed in her fury, and Daphne’s heart had beaten faster at that sight. “Winter promises to be cold, and dear Tom here is just a newborn.”

Merope looked at her, biting her lower lip.

“If you say so. But as soon as summer comes, I’ll be gone. I don’t wish to overstay your kindness.”

Daphne chuckled; she’d make sure Merope would stay summer after summer, winter after winter, until Tom was proved to be a menace or not. It was her mission, after all, and Daphne was good in what she did.

“Of course you will.”, Daphne replied, looking into Tom’s dark eyes. The baby seemed intelligent, but Daphne knew all his tricks already. She was going to right the past’s wrongs and undo any of the future’s mistakes, no matter the cost.

And if it involved murder, were Tom to become Voldemort, well - Daphne was going to kill him. If Merope killed her, becoming a mythical Dark Lady because of that, even better.

Daphne smiled, predatory. She’d have so much fun.

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea wtf this is supposed to end like so Who Likes Open Endings? all of u, i suppose.  
> the way daphne steals an identity in the beginning of the chapter is called ghosting, for those curious


End file.
